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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225130">What comes after</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtbagtrashcat/pseuds/dirtbagtrashcat'>dirtbagtrashcat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Lies We Tell [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath, Angst, Closure, Fluff, Going Home, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, On the Run, P5R Spoilers, Reconciliation, Recovery, Reunion, Romance for Days, Secrets, Sequel, akechi never intended to survive until the endgame, akira in inaba, all the closure Atlus refused to give us, hiding out, hometown, picking up the pieces of a life you never intended to live, postgame, shuake, the boys are in LOVE and i'm not afraid to say it, warmth, what's he supposed to do with his life now?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:02:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtbagtrashcat/pseuds/dirtbagtrashcat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of the events of Persona 5 Royal, picking up right where the game left off. </p><p>[literally ALL the P5R spoilers, you've been warned] [seriously, stop reading this summary if u don't want to see hints abt the context of third semester]</p><p>--------</p><p>“Are you sure about this?” Morgana hisses, in what’s probably intended to be a whisper. Akira rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Yes,” he says, with resolve. “In my entire life, I have never been as sure about anything as I am about this.”</p><p>Morgana gives him a dubious stare, flicks at one ear with his paw. </p><p>“I know you guys had… some kind of an understanding,” he whispers, in what may be the *literal* understatement of the century. “Back in that other reality. But things were different there, Akira. This is the real world, and that’s a real murderer sitting across from you! You can’t just bring people home like stray dogs!” </p><p>“Why not?” Akira asks stubbornly. “It worked out fine with you.” </p><p>[this fic is a direct sequel to "Your concern is misplaced," get caught up here - archiveofourown.org/works/23810008/chapters/57206254]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Lies We Tell [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Shuake</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. What came before</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>PSA: This is a direct continuation of “Your concern is misplaced,” a big honkin multichap fic about the evolution of Akira and Akechi’s relationship over the course of P5R (plus all the juicy stuff I assumed was happening off-screen when the camera panned away). If you try to read this without reading that, you may be confused! Get caught up: archiveofourown.org/works/23810008/chapters/57206254. (The first few chapters stick pretty closely to the canon, so if you just want to read “new” content, you could get away with starting at ch 4 or 5!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you sure about this?” Morgana hisses, in what’s probably intended to be a whisper. Akira rolls his eyes.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” he says, with resolve. “In my entire life, I have never been as sure about anything as I am about this.”</p><p>Morgana gives him a dubious stare, flicks at one ear with his paw.</p><p>“I know you guys had… some kind of an <em>understanding</em>,” he whispers, in what may be the literal understatement of the century. “Back in Maruki’s reality. But things were different there, Akira. This is the real world, and that’s a real murderer sitting across from you! You can’t just bring people home like stray dogs!”</p><p>“Why not?” Akira asks stubbornly. “It worked out fine with you.”</p><p>Across the aisle, Akechi -- who’s either asleep or pretending to be -- stirs, shifting in his seat to press his forehead against the window. Furtively, Akira slides his foot forward until he can graze the toe of Akechi’s shoe with his own. One of Morgana’s ears rotates toward the sound, and he gives Akira a pointed glare.</p><p>“That’s different,” he meows, self-righteous. “I never <em>killed</em> anyone.”</p><p>“That we know of,” Akira sniffs. “You couldn’t remember anything when we met, remember? You could’ve annihilated whole civilizations, for all we knew. And I still took you in, because it was the right thing to do.”</p><p>On some level, he knows that he’s being difficult. Morgana’s only trying to look out for him. But what is he supposed to say? Akira spent the past month of his life in mourning, talking to shadows and falling to pieces at the slightest pressure and only <em>occasionally</em> holding his shit together. Akira was a mess without Akechi. Now that he’s got him back, he’s not about to let him go.</p><p>“Anyway, why is this coming up <em>now</em>?” Akira asks irritably. “I spent most of January with the guy and you never had a problem with it then.”</p><p>“Yeah, because <em>then</em> you shared a common goal!” Morgana yowls back, just as heated. “Akechi would never kill you while he could still use you.”</p><p>“Well, now we share another common goal,” Akira tells him pettily. “We both want Goro not to die.”</p><p>Akechi’s eyes are still closed, but in his peripheral vision, Akira can see the corners of his mouth twitch.</p><p>“Yeah, well, I’m more concerned with <em>your</em> death,” Morgana grumbles. “But fine, ignore the sage advice of your advisor, who also happens to be a <em>literal</em> manifestation of the raw potential of the human spirit.”</p><p>“You <em>used</em> to be the manifestation of the human spirit,” Akira snipes back. “Now you’re just a cat. Get used to it.”</p><p>They subside into a sullen silence.</p><p>Akira’s bad mood doesn’t last. He’s too busy sneaking glances across the aisle, where Goro Akechi, solid and warm and alive, sits with his knees folded against his chest and tucked snugly inside his oversized coat. It’s <em>Akira’s</em> coat, really. Akira can’t fathom how Akechi managed to keep it even after reality reset itself, and he hasn’t had a chance to ask. Whatever Akechi’s been up to for the past month seems to have thoroughly exhausted him. He only lasted a few minutes on the train before he slumped against the window, unconscious.</p><p>Akira considers going to sit beside him. Pros: Goro smells amazing and feels even better; and after a month of (presumed?) isolation, he might even appreciate the company. Cons: even in sleep, Akechi’s got a hunted look on his face, like he’s been on the run for weeks. If woken abruptly, Akira suspects that he might strike first and ask questions later. Is Akechi armed? Would Akira end up with a fist to the sternum, or a knife to the gut? He’s probably better off not finding out.</p><p>“Goro,” he says softly, instead. “Are you awake?”</p><p>Akechi twitches and jerks upright. His lips pull back into a snarl as he thrusts one hand into the pocket of his (<em>Akira’s</em>) coat.</p><p>“It’s me!” Akira says hastily, holding both hands up. “It’s just me.”</p><p>Akechi stays frozen like that for another moment, bristling and hostile; and then he sags in place. When he pulls his hand out of his pocket, it’s empty.</p><p>“Akira-kun,” he says hoarsely, sending another little thrill of pleasure through Akira. “You should be careful about waking me. It could be -- imprudent -- to take me by surprise.”</p><p>Morgana shoots Akira another weighty look, which he pointedly ignores.</p><p>“Got it,” he says instead. “Gentle wake-ups from a safe distance; no problemo. Hey,” he adds, only a little nervously. “Can we talk?”</p><p>Akechi blinks blearily, rubs his eyes with both hands.</p><p>“Of course,” he sighs. “What manner of devil would I be to say no? I’ve already placed myself in your care, after all.” He pauses, chews that over, and then chuckles lightly. “I must truly be more desperate than I knew,” he muses. “Or at the very least, more exhausted. I cannot believe that you were able to persuade me to follow you home, Kurusu-kun; and yet here I am, and there you are. How the mighty have fallen,” he adds, with a twist of bitterness.</p><p>“Ah, well,” Akira says anxiously, “I guess that brings me to my question. Which is, uh -- how <em>did</em> the mighty fall? Sorry,” he adds hastily, in answer to Akechi’s incredulous stare. “What I mean to say is, where the hell have you been?”</p><p>Akechi smirks.</p><p>“Few would dare to ask me such a question,” he drawls, “but I suppose I owe you this much, at least. All right, Kurusu-kun. I’ll talk.”</p><p>##</p><p>Akechi fell out of a helicopter, and woke up in the street.</p><p>He was on his feet before he was even aware that he was awake. His right hand curled reflexively into a fist while his left dropped to the gun on his hip--</p><p>Except that his gun wasn’t on his hip. His prized holster, the custom harness that he so meticulously designed to look for all intents and purposes like an ordinary belt, was nowhere to be found. And whose rumpled, unfashionable coat was <em>this</em>? It certainly wasn’t his. It looked more like something that Akira would--</p><p>Memory struck like a thunderbolt. An alternate reality given shape by a demented, deluded coward playing god. The Phantom Thieves disbanded, united by their shared disinterest in their leader once they no longer had any use for him. Walking into Leblanc to find himself staring down a <em>dead woman</em>, the ghost that haunts his dreams finally forcing her way into his waking world; and the relief he felt at the sight of Akira’s dark, feline gaze, just as sharp as ever, the sole shred of sanity in a sea of madness, just like in the real world. Akira shaking his hand and Akira fighting by his side; Akira staring at Akechi’s true self without flinching, without turning away. Akira looking at Akechi with longing; Akira’s hands on his back, his neck, his face. Akira undressing him and Akira undressed, all sinewy muscle and scar tissue, and Akira’s mouth against his, Akira <em>moaning</em>--</p><p>“Good god,” Akechi muttered. He dug his nails deep into the meat of his forearm and yanked, <em>hard</em>, till little beads of scarlet welled up under his touch. The bright sting of it focused him, grounded him. He took a breath, let it out; took another. Akechi was calm. He was controlled. He’d seen stranger things, hadn’t he? Was he a fool, to lose his wits at the first sign of an alternate universe? Would a little petty time travel unseat his composure? It certainly would <em>not</em>.</p><p>Start with the basics. What did he know? He knew that Shido had confessed his crimes, in this and every reality; that even now, the murderous bastard was wailing away in a cell somewhere, making a hideous mockery of contrition. He knew that the events of the past few weeks were real -- how else could he have acquired this coat? -- and also <em>not</em>-real, or else he’d be at Odaiba Stadium instead of -- he squints around warily -- outside of the Diet Building, apparently. Akechi knew--</p><p>(--<em>that Akira smelled like coffee and chocolate and sweat, that his hands were warm even on the coldest night; that without his glasses his big dark eyes threatened to swallow up his whole face, to swallow up Akechi's whole world--</em>)</p><p>--that he was alive, at the least, if not altogether well. He’d survived the engine room somehow, by the skin of his teeth, like he always did.</p><p>What <em>didn’t</em> he know? Akechi didn’t know what day it was, or what <em>year</em> it was, for that matter. He didn’t know if he was wanted by the state for crimes that he hadn’t committed, or for crimes that he had. He didn’t know whether Shido called off his goons after his heart changed, or if he’d been too busy indulging his own pathetic fit of self-pity to ask his thugs <em>not</em> to kill his son.</p><p>Akechi needed a warm shower, but he didn’t dare go back to his apartment, where Shido’s trained gorillas would definitely be waiting, or at the very least, watching. He needed something hot to drink, but he wasn’t about to buy it with the <em>zero yen</em> he had on him. (Damn it all, why had he ever let Akira walk off with his blazer? It’s not as though <em>Akira</em> would get anything out of the envelope of cash and the falsified passport that Akechi had sewed into the lining).</p><p>More than anything else, Akechi needed information. This much, at least, he could handle.</p><p> </p><p>Akira Kurusu was in prison, he learned at the nearest internet cafe. Akira was in prison and Goro Akechi, Shido’s loyal dog, the defamed Detective Prince, was dead.</p><p><em>Good</em>, Akechi thought, with satisfaction. Death would suit him quite nicely. He’d certainly daydreamed about it enough. Perhaps now that he’d died, he could finally get some proper sleep.</p><p> </p><p>His blazer wasn’t the only place that Akechi had stashed emergency funds. Goro Akechi was a fox; he had caches hidden all over Tokyo. Hunting them down and unearthing them was the simplest thing in the world. But where could he go from there? He certainly couldn’t go home, where he’d be killed, or back to <em>school</em>, where he was already dead.</p><p>...He could go to Leblanc. Akira would help him. Helping others was as easy as breathing for Akira, and twice as instinctive. The boy was a slave to his own sense of charity. But Akira was in jail, and Akechi suspected that he’d receive a far colder welcome from Akira’s guardian, who might or might not know that Akechi was his daughter’s mother’s murderer. So that was a dead end.</p><p>He’d simply have to disappear. Akechi had disappeared before. It wasn’t as though there was anyone who’d ever miss him. Reality was as one perceived it, after all, and there was no one alive who saw Akechi, not really, not outside of the hideous public image that he’d so carefully crafted. When Akechi held still, when he turned his face away from the light and receded into shadow, it was like he’d never really existed at all.</p><p>##</p><p>“That’s it?” Akira asks. Akechi blinks at him.</p><p>“Yes?” he asks, more than says. “Ah… Were you expecting something more?”</p><p>“Uh, yes?” Akira demands. “What do you mean, you disappeared? Did you really never go home? Where did you <em>sleep</em>?”</p><p>Akechi shoots him a wry look.</p><p>“If I’d been able to return to my apartment,” he says drily, “do you really believe that I’d still be wearing your coat?”</p><p>“Maybe!” Akira shoots back, and then looks sheepishly away. “I thought that maybe you were feeling sentimental.”</p><p>Akechi snorts.</p><p>“If ever I fall victim to a fit of <em>sentiment</em>, strike me down where I stand.”</p><p>“Still,” Akira says, looking somewhat pitiful. “Once I was out of jail… Why didn’t you come find me?”</p><p>Akechi sighs.</p><p>“Shido may have confessed,” he says wearily, “but his followers are alive and well, and more afraid than ever that the consequences of their actions lurk round every corner. They have gathered their resources, and they are doing everything in their power to eliminate all evidence of their crimes -- including, but not limited to, the murderous bastard they paid to do their dirty work.”</p><p>Akira stares at him miserably. Akechi scowls.</p><p>“<em>Besides</em>,” he says coldly. “If I’d reared my head in the presence of your little band of do-gooders, Nijiima-san and Okumura-san would have called the police before I could so much as greet you. And I’ve no intention of spending my life behind bars,” he adds, fiercely. “I won’t atone for anything if I live out the rest of my life as a rat in a cage.”</p><p>“You’re telling me,” Akira agrees easily. “A few days was enough.”</p><p>Akechi shoots him a half-guilty stare, and then turns his face away.</p><p>“Then let me ask you this,” he says brusquely. “How do you intend to explain this situation to your guardians? Surely they will notice the conspicuous addition of an <em>extraneous son</em>.”</p><p>“Hey, you’re already wearing my coat!” Akira says hopefully. “If we put my glasses on you, too, maybe they won’t even notice!”</p><p>Akechi glares at him.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Akira sighs. “You’ll have to wait somewhere when I first get back, I guess. After that, though… My folks travel a lot. Most of the time, it’s just me. I’ll say hi, and apologize for the trouble I’ve caused them, and the next time they get home and see us, we can just pretend you’re a school friend staying over.”</p><p>Akechi’s eyes narrow.</p><p>“A school friend, staying over <em>indefinitely</em>?” he asks, to Morgana’s horror and Akira’s distinct pleasure. Akira grins.</p><p>“They won’t blink twice,” he assures him. “And look at you! Pretty boy like you, I’m sure you’re a hit with parents.”</p><p>Akechi glares out the window.</p><p>“That’s not my experience,” he says coldly.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Akira says immediately, folding like wet cardboard. “I only mean -- Just trust me, Goro. I promise it’ll work out. I swear it.”</p><p>Akechi glares at him, and then rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Well,” he sighs. “I suppose that I’ve little choice in the matter.”</p><p>“You always have a choice,” Akira tells him adoringly. “Just give me a chance. If it sucks, you can, uh…” He thinks fast. “--steal my identity!” he concludes, triumphant. “I’ll give you my passport, and we’ll get you on the first flight to America. How about that?”</p><p>Akechi can’t suppress his smile.</p><p>“It’s a deal,” he says, with undeniable affection, offering Akira his hand to shake. “My life is in your hands, Akira-kun.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Where we'll go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Akechi arrives in Akira's hometown.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for mild self-harm &amp; (vague, not-actionable) suicidal ideation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akechi has seen his fair share of bad living situations.</p><p>His mother, when she was alive, was more trouble than she was worth: all that wailing and leaking, like a rabbit in a bear trap. The first group home after that turned out to be running an insurance scam, collecting orphans like bottle caps in order to trade their social security payouts for low-grade meth. The next home was—</p><p>(Akechi digs his nails into his arm, presses till it bleeds.)</p><p>—and after that, he was much too broken for anyone to keep him for more than a few days or a few weeks, or however long it took for them to realize that they’d inadvertently invited a bloodsucker into their home — one of those <em>creepy children</em> you read about in the paper, the kind that eventually snaps and cuts off their guardians’ genitals while they sleep.</p><p>Akechi knows better than to expect anything good from parents. Just because two people mash their parts together doesn’t make them fit to <em>create</em> <em>life</em>. Any fool can make a child. It can happen by <em>accident</em>, for heaven’s sake. If a god did create the world — an increasingly persuasive prospect, after all that Akechi’s done and seen — Akechi suspects that it was probably an accident. What else would explain its relentless disinterest in its ugly, squalling, helpless creation?</p><p>Still, Akira Kurusu is almost <em>alarmingly</em> stable — perhaps the one truly good person in the entire world. If decent parents do exist, surely Kurusu-kun would have at least one. Perhaps Akechi has nothing to worry about, after all.</p><p>...Or so he might think, if he were a fool. Akechi knows better than to fall for the universe’s little tricks. Hope is a loser’s game, and Akechi plays to win.</p><p>He spits on the ground, watches it slide down a blade of grass and disappear into the dirt.</p><p>When he stepped out of that shithole motel this morning, he certainly hadn’t expected to end up in the rural, bucolic province of Inaba, in the middle of fuck-all, nowhere. Akechi’s never been out of the city before. The air here tastes sweet and oddly damp, like the smell after rain.</p><p>(“Wait here,” Akira asked him desperately when they arrived at the little treehouse in the brush — little more than a dilapidated shamble of rotting wooden beams, fuzzed over with blooms of virulent yellow moss and streaked with grey-green lichen. “Please, please, <em>please</em> wait here, Goro, I’ll never forgive you if you disappear now, I swear to <em>god</em> I will hunt you down until the day I die, so just — <em>please</em> just wait. Promise me. <em>Please</em>,” he called over his shoulder, one more time, his eyes so wide and dark and hopeful that Akechi couldn’t help but snort and agree to it. Sometimes Akechi thinks he’d agree to anything Akira asked if he said <em>please</em> and looked at him like that, all open, undisguised desperation. It’s dangerous.)</p><p>Akechi considers leaning on the treehouse and decides against it. God only knows what manner of syphilitic filth is caked over these grimy walls.</p><p>“Goro!” a voice calls, from somewhere in the bramble. “It’s me! I’m gonna surprise you! Please don’t kill me!”</p><p>A moment later, a figure hurtles out of the brush behind him; catches him round the neck (Akechi flexes his fingers and tenses his jaw to quell the reflexive surge of violence that follows), spins him around, and kisses him.</p><p>For just a moment, the gears whirring behind Goro’s eyes slow to a crawl.</p><p>Akira smells like sweat and smoke and earth; he tastes like coffee and feels like rain. For only an instant, Goro’s fear-taut limbs go slack. The pounding in his ears fades to distant thunder, and his mind goes quiet. In all the world there is only Akira, dark eyes, bright smile, like mischief made flesh, too good for this whole miserable <em>fuck</em> of a world, all warm unthinking desire and lean sinewy limbs and sharp animal instinct. Akira kisses him and Goro kisses him back and it’s like catching snowflakes on your tongue, like swallowing sunlight.</p><p>Then Akira breaks away, and the world rushes back in.</p><p>“Goro,” Akira says, breathless, eyes crinkled with pleasure. “You waited.”</p><p>Akechi glares at the ground.</p><p>“You swore to hunt me till you <em>died</em>,” he says drily. “After all we’ve been through, I thought it only decent to spare you the trouble.”</p><p>“No trouble at all,” Akira tells him, beaming. He honestly looks like he means it. Akechi scowls.</p><p>“Be that as it may,” he says icily, clenching his hands into fists to still their childish trembling. “Have you greeted your guardians? How shall we proceed?”</p><p>Now it’s Akira’s turn to look away.</p><p>“Ah — they weren’t there,” he says sheepishly. “They left a note.”</p><p>Akechi’s brow furrows.</p><p>“They <em>weren’t there</em>?” he repeats. “Your parents?”</p><p>Akira nods.</p><p>“Did they ever visit you in Tokyo?” Akechi asks.</p><p>Akira shakes his head. Akechi’s head tilts.</p><p>“Did they <em>call</em>?” he offers.</p><p>Another head shake. Akechi’s mouth twists.</p><p>“Well, that makes things easy,” he says crisply. “No need to invent an explanation if there’s no one to receive it, is there?”</p><p>Akira nods, but there’s something wrong. His face, usually warm and bright, is closed. Akechi frowns. As a boy, he would have traded both his arms for a parent who was only <em>neglectful</em>. Still, he cannot ignore the hurt in Akira’s face.</p><p>“Are you disappointed?” he asks neutrally, in spite of himself. Akira shrugs.</p><p>“It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“Assuredly,” Akechi agrees. “Regardless… Are you disappointed?”</p><p>Akira smirks.</p><p>“Yeah,” he admits. “I guess I am.”</p><p>He hesitates. Akechi keeps his mouth shut, waits patiently.</p><p>“When I got arrested,” Akira goes on. “They were mad, you know? It wouldn’t reflect well on them, in the community, I mean. It’s a small town. That’s why they never called, I think. They were — hurt. But I thought if I came back and I showed them my grades, that I’d — that maybe they’d — I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter.”</p><p>“What does, in the grander scheme?” Akechi asks lightly. “Still. I’m sorry, Kurusu-kun. It is — frustrating — when those we rely on fail to execute their duties.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Akira sighs. “Guess you know a thing or two about that, huh?”</p><p>Akechi raises an eyebrow at the understatement, and Akira snorts.</p><p>“C’mon,” he says, taking Akechi’s hand in his. “This makes things easier, anyway — gives us some time to get our story straight.”</p><p>“A thoughtlessly positive outlook,” Akechi says, equal parts fond and patronizing. “I’d expect no less from you. All right, Kurusu-kun. I’d gladly accept a bath, at the very least.”</p><p>Akira gives him a long look, running his eyes over Akechi’s neck, his chest, his wrists.</p><p>“I think we can manage that,” he says, with a flirtatious gleam. He leans in — (in spite of himself, Akechi’s heart flutters) — and plants a kiss on the nape of Akechi’s neck, behind his ear.</p><p>“Let’s get you cleaned up.”</p><p>To his great shame, Akechi finds himself too flustered to answer. He nods mutely, and he follows.</p><p>##</p><p>Goro Akechi is in his house.</p><p><em>Goro Akechi</em> — a dead man — the dethroned Detective Prince; the man in the black mask, Shido’s lapdog, his kid sister’s mother’s killer, the love of his fucking life — is <em>in</em> <em>his house</em>. Akira can’t even <em>think</em> about it without smiling.</p><p>“So what’s your plan?” Morgana hisses at him, kneading the bed so vigorously that his needle-tip claws puncture the lining of his quilt. Pulled from his reverie, Akira glares at him.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“What is your <em>plan</em>?” Morgana repeats. “For the serial murderer you’re hosting in your childhood home? The one no one knows is here and everyone thinks is dead?”</p><p>“I know who you’re talking about,” Akira grumbles. “You don’t have to <em>recap</em> at me.”</p><p>Morgana rolls his eyes.</p><p>“And I don’t think I should be making any plans without Goro,” Akira says stubbornly. Morgana rolls onto his back, exhausted.</p><p>“Will you tell the others, at least?” he asks wearily. Akira turns his chin away.</p><p>“Of course I will,” he says. And then, wilting in the face of Morgana’s dubious stare: “...eventually.”</p><p>“I figured as much,” Morgana sighs. Akira shrugs diffidently.</p><p>“I mean — if anyone knows how to disappear, it’s Goro, right? What could I possibly contribute, other than a place to crash? And what would telling the others do, other than freak them out?”</p><p>“And you’re just planning on keeping him here? <em>Forever</em>?”</p><p>“Not <em>forever</em>,” Akira shoots back, flapping his hands expansively. “Just, you know. As long as he needs it. He can’t just go back to his parents’ house, Morgana, he doesn’t have anywhere to <em>go</em>. He needs help! Helping people is what we <em>do</em>, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Helping <em>decent</em> people—”</p><p>“No! The Phantom Thieves don’t help people who pass some kind of purity test, they help <em>people</em>! Just — people who need it! I don’t understand why you’re—”</p><p>“Well <em>I</em> don’t understand why you’re acting like <em>you</em> don’t understand! He <em>killed</em> you! It’s—”</p><p>##</p><p>Through the thin walls of Akira’s parents’ house, Akechi can hear Akira arguing with his cat. He slouches down in the tub till the water covers his ears and all he can hear is the <em>rush</em> of plumbing and a distant, incoherent rumble.</p><p>Then he slides down a little further, till the water covers his nose.</p><p>Akechi knows that this is his fault. He’s making things difficult again. To Akira, his circumstances must look confoundingly stupid. <em>Did you really have no plan</em>? he probably longs to ask. <em>If you had succeeded, what were you going to do next</em>?</p><p>Of course Akechi had a plan. He was going to die — to burn out in a blaze of gunfire, just like he’d always dreamed. He would defeat his so-called father, looking straight into his sniveling face as he pulled the trigger. He would watch the blood weep from the wound, watch Shido’s expression twist from shock to rage to hurt to pure, impotent humiliation. Maybe he’d snap a few photos, for posterity. And when Shido’s goons came for him, he’d take a few down with him before he joined the old bastard in hell.</p><p>Akechi closes his eyes, sinks lower into the water, till the surface closes over his head.</p><p>It’s not that Akechi <em>wants</em> to die; or not with any particular urgency, anyway. It’s just that it always seemed like the obvious endgame — the inevitable conclusion to his miserable existence. Of course he doesn’t know what to do now. He was never supposed to get this far.</p><p>Two warm hands hook themselves under his armpits and haul him upward, gasping, into dry air. Akechi looks up into Akira’s dark eyes, wide with concern.</p><p>“Goro,” Akira says anxiously. “Are you—” He bites lip, changes tracks. “—okay? I called you and you didn’t answer, so I got worried.”</p><p>To his embarrassment, Akechi finds that he has to gasp for breath before he can reply.</p><p>“Of course I’m fine,” he says witheringly, pulling in another shallow breath. Akira looks miserable.</p><p>“Are you—”</p><p>Akechi huffs air through his nose, irritable. “Do we really need to have this conversation?” he asks impatiently. “I—” he looks away. “—won’t make trouble for you,” he finishes, embarrassed. “You are doing me a service, and I would not repay your boon with a burden. You do not have to worry about me, Kurusu-kun.”</p><p>“Promise?” Akira asks. He’s doing that <em>thing</em> again, the one where he wears his open, unabashed devotion on his sleeve like it’s not even embarrassing. Akechi flushes and scowls.</p><p>“<em>Fine</em>,” he says tersely.</p><p>“You have to say it.”</p><p>“<em>I promise</em>,” Akechi sighs, raising his hands in concession. “Twice in one day,” he sighs. “That’s more promises than I’ve made for anyone in my life, Kurusu-kun. Are you satisfied?”</p><p>“Yes,” Akira says earnestly, smiling. Akechi can feel his heart thud in his chest, like a dead bird falling from a great height. “Now will you come out? I made you dinner.”</p><p>“You’ll make a wonderful wife someday,” Akechi deadpans. Akira bats his eyelashes at him, and Akechi has to look away again.</p><p>“Akira-kun,” he adds, hollowly, before he can change his mind. “I — apologize for inconveniencing you. As soon as I’ve determined the correct path forward, I’ll be out of your hair and—”</p><p>“Stop,” Akira cuts in, shaking his head. “The only thing that would <em>inconvenience</em> me would be if you got out of my hair. <em>Goro</em>,” he says seriously, swooping in close, and Akechi’s heart stutters. “Coming home with me was the kindest thing you could have done. I’ve been…” He breaks off, shakes his head again. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Just — come to dinner. Okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Akechi sighs. “But if your cat tries to poison me, there’ll be hell to pay.”</p><p>“You can say that again,” Akira growls, eyes flashing with menace. He thrusts a towel toward Akechi — it’s <em>warm</em>, Akechi notices as he takes it; Akira must have put it in the dryer first — and then saunters toward the door.</p><p>“Hope you like curry,” he calls over his shoulder. And in spite of the absolute hopelessness of his situation — in spite of the fact that Akechi shouldn’t be alive; that in a good and just world, he’d have died in the dark of the engine room, and Akira would be free of him — Akechi smiles, and he follows.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. What we've done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Akechi has a nightmare.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content warning for violence, body horror, relatively mild self-harm</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akechi wakes up in the dark.</p><p>Akechi often wakes up in unfamiliar rooms. Still, it takes him a moment to make sense of the warm, misshapen form weighing heavily on his midsection; and of the heat radiating from the space in front of him. <em>There’s someone in the bed with him</em>. Akechi freezes rigid, gasps for breath — smells coffee and salt and sweat, and relaxes again. Akira. It wasn’t a dream, then.</p><p>“Akira,” he says softly.</p><p>No response. The body stretched out beside him is out cold.</p><p>Tentatively, Akechi leans forward and buries his nose in the back of Akira’s neck. Akira doesn’t wake, but his sleeping form responds to the touch. A wheezy little mew creaks from the back of his throat, and Akira unfurls a little, turns to nuzzle into Akechi.</p><p>Akechi can feel the tension melting out of him. It’s <em>embarrassing</em>. At least there’s no one awake to see it.</p><p>In the quiet stillness of night, Akechi places one uncertain hand on Akira’s shoulder. Then he slides it down his arm, to the elbow.</p><p>No response.</p><p>Impulsively, with one last glance over his shoulder to make sure the stupid cat is still snoring, Akechi wraps his arm around Akira’s chest and squeezes. He’s so warm, he thinks wonderingly, and so solid — all lean, compact muscle, hot against his palm.</p><p>Akira rolls toward him, onto his back. His curls flop back from his face, baring the smooth skin of his forehead, and Akechi’s heart seizes in his chest, rattles his ribs and thunders against his sternum. When Akira is awake, he’s always on guard — dark eyes wide, ears pricked, coiled like a spring. It’s strange to see him like this: soft and pliable and utterly vulnerable.</p><p>A pale hand materializes between them. Akechi nearly screams before he realizes that it’s his own — except that that doesn’t make sense, because Akechi’s not <em>moving</em> his hand.</p><p>Akechi watches as the hand flexes its fingers; draws away from Akira, retreats into the darkened folds of the bedsheets. When it emerges again, Akechi can see the telltale wink of refracted light: a narrow panel of brightness glancing off of the oilslick barrel of his gun.</p><p><em>But that’s impossible</em>, Akechi tries to argue, mutely. He doesn’t even <em>have</em> his gun. It’s in his abandoned apartment, back in the city. And okay, sure, admittedly he may have got his hands on a backup, but he certainly doesn’t <em>sleep</em> with it.</p><p>The hand — <em>his hand</em> — won’t listen to reason; doesn’t slow down at all. Goro tries to grab it with his other arm but his other arm won’t move, <em>his body won’t move</em>, all except for the traitorous limb that even now hoists his gun higher, presses its barrel firmly against Akira’s forehead.</p><p>Now, at last, Akira’s eyes fly open. Akira stares at him beseechingly, desperately, lovingly, all fierce integrity and dogged loyalty and endless determination because it’s <em>Akira</em>, it’s his <em>friend</em>, <em>Akira</em>; and oh god, oh <em>god</em>, <em>god </em>help him, Akechi can’t do this, he can’t do this, he can’t do this, <em>he can’t do this again—</em></p><p>And <em>pfthhht!</em> goes the gun, the bullet sloshing through the silencer to puncture the smooth softness of Akira’s forehead;</p><p>And <em>scrr-crack</em> goes his skull as it splinters to shards;</p><p>And <em>sqeulllllch</em> goes the quivering grey slop behind it, all that sparking brilliant mischief churned in an instant to raw dead meat, to hot wet meat.</p><p>Bright scarlet weeps from the wound and turns Akira’s face all red (<em>his face all red</em>), trickles through his pretty brows and seeps into the whites of his eyes, threads through the soft wet gel behind his lids like ink through water.</p><p>Akechi can see his <em>brain</em> his fucking brain bulging from the hole, raw ragged mince in a lurid purple grey; Akechi can <em>see his fucking brain</em> spattered on the pillowcase and even now Akira stares at him, unblinking, unwavering, and the worst part is that he’s not even angry. Akira looks <em>devastated</em>, Akechi has made him so sad that he’ll never be happy again, never smile again, never snicker again, never look up with hope in his eyes (<em>his dead sightless eyes</em>) because Akira’s fucking dead and <em>he</em> killed him, Akechi fucking killed him and he’ll do it again and again and again—</p><p> </p><p>Akira wakes up in the dark, because Akechi is sobbing.</p><p>“Goro?” he mutters blearily, his voice scratchy with sleep. He reaches for him but Akechi slaps his hand away, snarls like a rabid dog before resuming his wrenching, ragged wailing — a noise that conveys not as much grief as it does <em>agony</em>, like Akechi’s being torn apart. Akira hears a thunderous <em>slam</em>, alarmingly close, and then another.</p><p>“<em>Goro</em>?” Akira says again, frantic now and utterly awake, and he scrabbles for the lamp on his side table.</p><p>The light flicks on just in time for Akira to see Akechi <em>slam</em> his temple against the wall again, hard enough to shake the room. Akira can see a spray of bright scarlet on his clean white sheets, and it takes him a moment to figure out where it’s coming from: Akechi is clawing at his left hand with the nails of his right, striking and slashing and gouging with brutal, mutilating force, leaving the skin of his hand so ragged and torn that Akira’s stomach turns.</p><p>What can he do but wrap both his arms around him? Akechi fights him, of course; he bucks and thrashes like a trapped cat. Akechi is strong but Akira is strong too, and his strength is bolstered by fierce protective resolve, while Akechi’s is fragmented and scattered and bleeding. Akechi struggles and snarls, wrenches his weight this way and that but he cannot get free, until at last the fight goes out of him and he goes limp, his body still convulsing with those jagged, wrenching sobs.</p><p>It takes Akira a moment to realize that Akechi is speaking, the words barely discernible through his keening hurt:</p><p>“—I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll <em>kill</em> you you’re dead you’re fucking <em>dead</em>—”</p><p>From across the bed, Morgana shoots Akira a worried look. For only the briefest of moments, Akira <em>hates</em> him.</p><p>“You didn’t kill me,” Akira murmurs gently, close against Akechi’s ear; which only serves to redouble his jagged, keening wails. “I’m right here, Goro. I’m okay, I’m alive, you didn’t kill me—”</p><p>“I <em>did</em>!” Akechi roars, bestial; and then he crumples again, face hollow and twisted with hurt, and Akira’s heart breaks all over again.</p><p>“Even if you did,” Akira attempts, “I’m still here, okay? I’m okay, I’m here.”</p><p>“And next time?” Akechi hisses, white-knuckled and frantic. Akira doesn’t even look at Morgana.</p><p>“There won’t <em>be</em> a next time,” he tells him comfortingly. “If you try anything, I’ll kick your ass.”</p><p>Miraculously, that startles a laugh out of him. Tentatively, Akechi flicks his eyelids open. When he finds Akira’s face only inches from his, furrowed with hurt and worry, it undoes him all over again.</p><p>“<em>Akira</em>,” Akechi moans; chokes on his hurt, sobs, tries again. “God help me, Akira, you are so fucked up, <em>this is</em> <em>so fucked up</em>.”</p><p>Akira’s mouth flicks into a brief smile.</p><p>“Yeah,” he concedes. “Yeah, maybe. But remember what I said about trusting me?”</p><p>“I trust you,” Goro says, unthinking. He looks terribly small.</p><p>“Then trust my instincts, okay?”</p><p>“But last time—”</p><p>“You never tricked me, Goro,” Akira tells him firmly. He can feel Akechi tense up in his arms. “I could smell the lies on your breath from a mile away, from the very beginning. I stuck around because I could feel something under them, too — <em>you</em>, trapped under all the shit you’d been made to do. You didn’t — draw an unsuspecting victim into your web, Goro. I saw the threads and I <em>walked</em> in, of my own free will.”</p><p>Akechi gapes at him.</p><p>“You’re insane,” he says eventually, but the corner of his mouth twitches; curls slightly upward. “<em>God</em>, Akira, you’re…” He sighs miserably. “I wish that you would — be more careful with yourself.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Akira says tiredly, trying not to look at Akechi’s mutilated hand. “I know the feeling.”</p><p>They stay like that for a moment, breathing through the quiet.</p><p>“I wasn’t supposed to live this long,” Akechi says at last, flatly. “I was supposed to die after I killed my father. That’s why I don’t have a plan.”</p><p>“I figured,” Akira sighs. Akechi looks up at him, reflexively defensive, and then settles.</p><p>“I’m sorry I messed up your plan,” Akira says quietly, startling another snort out of Akechi. “But I don’t regret it.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t, would you?” Akechi asks wryly.</p><p>“I’m glad you survived,” Akira continues, steadily. “It’s selfish, but I am. I don’t really have a plan either,” he says, melancholy sharpening his features, “but — maybe we can figure it out together.”</p><p>Akechi scoffs, rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth, closes it.</p><p>“I apologize for waking you,” he says instead.</p><p>“Wanna make up for it?” Akira asks him. Akechi looks up, surprised.</p><p>“Ah — yes? I suppose so?”</p><p>“Then don’t worry about it,” Akira tells him, squeezing him tighter and wrapping his legs around him too. “Just… let me take care of this, okay? Let’s just — get you cleaned up.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>today’s grim lil episode brought to you by my disordered sleep &amp; extremely unromantic self-destructive habits! sorry this one got kinda dark -- it just feels sorta unavoidable with the history these two share. don’t worry, we’ll keep it (relatively) chill for a while after this</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. What we're doing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Akira takes some time to think things over. Akechi works on his disguise. Morgana confronts Akira.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akechi’s still asleep when Akira wakes up. It’s astonishing to see him like this, as soft and fragile as a newborn fawn -- like seeing a hurricane on its day off.</p><p>In the stillness of his slumber, it would be easy to believe that the events of last night were only a dream. But Akechi sleeps with his hands curled like seashells under his chin, and the shock of white gauze wrapped around his palm assures Akira that the nightmare was all too real.</p><p>Akira has seen Akechi lose control before: channeling Loki’s chaos in the engine room, or rampaging through enemy Shadows in Maruki’s lab. After all they’d done, Akira thought that he’d seen Akechi as unfettered and unwound as he could be. Now, he’s increasingly convinced that he’s barely scratched the surface. Maybe Akira had only ever seen what Akechi wanted him to see.</p><p>But of course that’s all he saw, Akira scolds himself. It’s not as though he’d ever deluded himself into believing that “feral, unbridled ferocity” was the sole truth at the center of Akechi’s soul. Still. He knew that Akechi was hurting, but… He didn’t think it would be like this.</p><p>In spite of Morgana’s (near-constant) reminders, it’s easy for Akira to forget sometimes that Akechi really did kill him. From Goro’s perspective, he didn’t just make an attempt on Akira’s life; didn’t come out on top of a fatal fight, or strike his rival down in self-defense. From Goro’s perspective, he shot Akira -- unarmed; defenseless -- right in the fucking face. If Akira had to live with that memory, he’d probably have nightmares too.</p><p>(Akira <em>does</em> have nightmares. After all he’s seen? Of course he does. But… Not like this.)</p><p> </p><p>Akechi is a light sleeper, but Akira’s poured years of his life into honing his precision to a razor’s edge. With meticulous physical control, he disentangles his limbs from Goro’s; twists his arm out from under Goro’s head. Goro huffs and shifts, and Akira wonders if it would be okay for him to stretch out an arm and gentle him, or if he might lose the arm in the process. Ah, who is he kidding? He’s never been great with impulse control. Akira reaches out and tucks an unruly lock of hair behind Goro’s ear; runs two featherlight fingers down the line of his jaw.</p><p>To his endless astoundment, Goro leans into his touch -- presses his cheek against Akira’s palm and settles; goes soft and still. Akira can feel the assurance of it. He can feel the raw, quiet power barely contained by Goro’s skin, like lightning in his palm.</p><p>“Akira!” Morgana mews quietly, from the foot of the bed. He shoots Akira a resentful glare, all double-barreled disdainful disinterest. The expression looks altogether at home on his little feline face. “I’m <em>hungry</em>,” he says sulkily.</p><p>“I’m coming,” Akira barely breathes back, and (with all the willpower in his body), he draws his hand away and heads for the door.</p><p>##</p><p>His parents don’t have cat food, obviously. They still don’t know they have a cat. But Akira brought a few cans from Tokyo -- enough to last them the first few days, at least. Morgana complains as he tucks into it, like always, but his tail stands straight up, and Akira can see his pupils dilate.</p><p>He wanders toward the fridge, where his mom pinned the note.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Akira,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’re sorry that we couldn’t be here to greet you. An urgent project came up, and we simply can’t afford to lose this client. We’ll be back Friday. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your father stocked the fridge, there’s rice in the rice cooker and I put some of last week’s curry in the freezer in case you’re too tired to cook. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Welcome home sweetie. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mom</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t <em>feel</em> particularly welcome.</p><p>Akira’s parents have always worked a lot. “We just want to give you all the opportunities that we never got to have,” his mother told him once, after they missed some birthday or other. He gets it, to some degree. Still. Some days he thinks he’d rather have them around than cash in on some ambiguous pool of “opportunities.”</p><p>On impulse, he dials Sojiro’s number.</p><p>“What?” the voice on the other end grumbles, after a few rings. “You forget something? Or you just need the recipe for my curry?”</p><p>“You think so little of me?” Akira shoots back, grinning at his empty kitchen. “You know I know it by heart.”</p><p>Sojiro’s deep, velvety chuckle sends a wash of warmth through Akira’s chest.</p><p>“Well, it’s a relief to know you got <em>something</em> out of your stay,” Sojiro tells him, with affection.</p><p>“Yeah, along with a cat, a new jacket, and PTSD.”</p><p>“Hey, how you choose to spend your money is none of my business,” Sojiro tells him wryly. Akira snickers.</p><p>“I miss you, Boss,” he says impulsively.</p><p>“What, already?” Sojiro asks him, laughing. “It’s been less than a day, kid.”</p><p>“Feels like a <em>lifetime</em>,” Akira says melodramatically. Sojiro gives him a <em>hrmph</em>.</p><p>“How are your parents?” he asks. “Not about to call me to complain, are they?”</p><p>“No, no,” Akira says dismissively, “they’re, uh--”</p><p>He pauses. Akechi has appeared in the doorway. He’s wearing one of Akira’s spare shirts, a faded grey tee he got from his time on the cross country team, and -- still more electrifying -- a pair of Akira’s <em>gym shorts</em>. His skinny legs stick out from the oversized legs like toothpicks; he looks a <em>million</em> years younger, and he’s listening with a quietly appraising look on his face.</p><p>“--not here,” Akira hears himself say, to his surprise. He’d planned on lying to Sojiro, to keep him from worrying.</p><p>“They’re not even <em>there</em>?” Sojiro asks, sounding more than a little outraged, just like Akira feared. Akira rolls his eyes at Akechi, as though Akechi had somehow forced him to tell the truth. “Are you serious? Did they pick you up from the station?”</p><p>He’s talking so loud even Goro can hear. Goro raises his eyebrows in agreement.</p><p>“They left a note,” Akira says, sticking his tongue out at him. “They work a lot; it’s why they never visited. But,” he adds hastily, wary of saying too much, “it’s not like I’m alone here!”</p><p>Akechi stares at him in abject panic.</p><p>“I’ve got Morgana with me, remember?” Akira says. Now it’s Akechi’s turn to take offense; he tilts his chin disdainfully away.</p><p>“The <em>cat</em>?” Sojiro asks, laughing. “Ah, right, the <em>talking</em> cat. So glad you’ve got such a reliable caretaker. Ah,” he adds, sounding somewhat embarrassed. “Will you… give him a pet for me?”</p><p>“Of course,” Akira tells him, grinning. “Honestly, I should go -- I’m still getting settled in, I just… Wanted to let you know I’d made it.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it, kid. I’ll pass it along to Futaba, if she’s not, uh… already listening.”</p><p>“Perfect. Talk to you later, Sojiro.”</p><p>Akechi steps into the kitchen. He’s even wearing Akira’s <em>socks</em>. Akira wears his clothes looser than Akechi's; the borrowed t-shirt hangs forward a little, baring a sliver of Goro's collar. Akira can’t figure out why that goes through him like a sledgehammer.</p><p>“You intended to lie to him,” Akechi says neutrally -- not a judgment, just an observation.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Akira asks evasively. “I didn’t lie.”</p><p>“No,” Akechi agrees, easily enough, “but you intended to.”</p><p>Akira wrinkles his nose at him.</p><p>“Are you always so annoyingly perceptive?” he asks, advancing a pace. Akechi stares straight back at him, a challenge in his gaze.</p><p>“Yes,” he says. “I suppose that I am. Aren’t you?”</p><p>Akira smirks, looks him up and down.</p><p>“I perceive that you look <em>cute as hell</em>,” he says accusingly. “Who told you you could root through my closet?”</p><p>“You did,” Akechi says coolly. “Last night. Now, there is something we must discuss, Kurusu-kun.”</p><p>“Hmm?” Akira asks distractedly, stepping forward to close the distance between them. He advances another pace, till his face is only inches from Goro’s.</p><p>Goro doesn’t flinch.</p><p>“Yes,” he says lightly. “The issue of my disguise.”</p><p>“Disguise?”</p><p>“It seems that the majority of the public has, whether temporarily or permanently, more or less forgotten me,” Akechi continues, turning away and beginning to pace across the linoleum floor. “But at some point, automated systems will prompt them to remember. And at that point, I will need not only to have adopted a <em>new</em> identity, but to have burnt the old one to ash. This means that I must be unrecognizable.”</p><p>“Uh,” Akira says intelligently. “Like… get a new wardrobe?”</p><p>“Like,” Akechi repeats mockingly. “Get a new wardrobe, and new hair, and a new name. At the <em>barest</em> minimum.”</p><p>“You’re gonna cut your hair?” Akira asks, visibly despondent. “You <em>can’t</em>.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Akechi says drily. “I failed to account for the fact that you’d only sought my company due to my <em>on-trend personal aesthetic</em>. I suppose that if I were to dye it black--”</p><p>“<em>Black</em>?” Akira repeats, with horror. He pretends to faint, swooning toward Akechi until the Prince is forced to catch him. Safe in Goro’s arms, he slits one eye open slyly. “<em>Must</em> you?” he asks, melodramatically melancholic. Akechi snorts.</p><p>“I suppose I could go lighter, or recolor it to a darker brown, you <em>superficial cretin</em>.”</p><p>“You’d do that for me?” Akira asks, overcome with sentiment, and Akechi fucking drops him. (He slips a foot under Akira’s head before it hits the floor. He’s not <em>completely</em> heartless.)</p><p>“<em>Ow</em>, you <em>bastard</em>,” Akira grumbles at him, from the floor. “I’ve got your best interests at heart, you know.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“That’s right,” Akira says, all injured pride. “<em>Someone</em> has to make sure you’re still hot, after all this.”</p><p>Akechi slides his foot out from under Akira’s head, which <em>thunk</em>s gently onto the floor.</p><p>“Ow,” he says pitifully, wrapping his hands over the back of his head.</p><p>“I won’t say I’m sorry.”</p><p>##</p><p>They compromise on a deeper brown, so dark it’s nearly black. Akechi scoffs and declares that Akira will be to blame when he’s found out within a week.</p><p>“We’ll have to <em>cut</em> my hair too, you know,” he says threateningly. “Will you pitch a fit over that, too? Will we have to <em>compromise</em>?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Akira says sullenly.</p><p>Akechi swings toward Akira, wearing the Detective Prince’s smile. His voice is deceptively light, and utterly hollow.</p><p>“Do you only like me for my looks, Kurusu-kun?” he asks mildly, through a mouthful of knives.</p><p>“Goro,” Akira says, crestfallen. “<em>No</em>. I’ll admit to liking how you look, but only because it’s what I associate with you.” And then, when Akechi shoots him an openly dubious stare: “What, you thought I had a thing for <em>sweater vests</em> before I met you?”</p><p>“And why not?” Akechi sniffs. Akira snorts, and Akechi levels another glare at him before swinging his focus back toward Akira’s bathroom mirror.</p><p>“I suppose I should get a pair of color contacts, too,” he says clinically, aiming a critical squint at his reflection. “The quality will have to be impeccable, I hear that poorly-constructed ones can damage one’s retinas… Perhaps something in blue?”</p><p>“<em>Don’t</em>,” Akira says desperately, before he even has time to think. “...Please,” he adds hastily, when Akechi levels a glare at him.</p><p>“What now?”</p><p>“It’s your <em>eyes</em>,” Akira says. He’s surprised to find himself feeling sheepish for once. Akira’s not easily embarrassed, but this particular declaration feels somehow more shameful than usual. “I…” He’s not sure how to put it. ‘<em>Your eyes are like warm honey; blue eyes would be a stranger’s’</em> would be vulnerable, even for him. “Would you want <em>me</em> to get colored contacts?” he hazards, in an effort to buy time.</p><p>When he glances up, he’s surprised to find Goro looking down and away. In his reflection, Akira can see his blush.</p><p>“I suppose not,” Goro says coldly, reaching for the box of dye. “I suppose that I might also have a… preference.”</p><p>Akira grins and tackles him.</p><p>“Akira!” Akechi yelps, pushing him away. “I’m holding--!”</p><p>“I see it,” Akira growls at him, nuzzling into his neck. “I’m <em>perceptive</em>, remember?”</p><p>“Tch,” Akechi tsks. “A <em>perceptive</em> partner would know when to leave well enough alone.”</p><p>Akira lights up.</p><p>“Did you say <em>partner</em>?” he asks, grinning giddily. Akechi scowls, because of course he does.</p><p>“In the parlance of law enforcement, yes. You are, ah -- my ally in negotiating this new stage of life; one who shares resources and aids in the discussion of -- <em>ow</em>!” he yelps, as Akira swoops in from behind him and bites down on his shoulder.</p><p>“Sorry,” Akira tells him, clearly not sorry. “I guess that’s not very professional of me.”</p><p>Akechi rolls his eyes and mutters something inaudible.</p><p>“Hmm?” Akira asks, leaning forward to hook his chin over Akechi’s shoulder. “What’s that?”</p><p>“I <em>said</em>,” Akechi hisses, “that professionalism wouldn’t <em>suit you</em>. Now turn around.”</p><p>“Turn around?”</p><p>“I need to <em>undress</em>, if you don’t wish me to soil your, ah -- whatever you’d call this.”</p><p>“My <em>t-shirt</em>?”</p><p>Akira can’t stop grinning. Akechi glares at him.</p><p>“If you say so.”</p><p>“Go ahead,” Akira tells him, with a challenging stare; and then shakes his head. “No, no, I don’t mean it. I’ll just… sit in the tub, yeah? In case you need an extra pair of hands.”</p><p>“Whatever brings you peace,” Akechi sighs, beleaguered and harried and also all-too-obviously pleased.</p><p>Perched on the edge of the bathtub, Akira can hear the soft <em>swish</em> of fabric on skin as Akechi pulls the shirt over his head. In the dark behind his eyelids, he can still see Akechi laid bare before him on that last night in Maruki’s fake world, before the Thieves tore it down. Stretched out over Akira’s thin, uneven mattress, Goro was all smooth lines and hard angles: sharp, sullen collarbones framing the achingly vulnerable hollow of his throat; the lines of his ribs faintly outlined through his skin.</p><p>(Akira can feel his neck getting hot. That’s one advantage of his unruly mop of hair, at least: camouflage for any unseemly body responses.)</p><p>That night, Akira felt every inch of him — wonderingly, dizzily, as though Goro might crumble under his touch. For all the heartbreaking fragility of his form, under the softness of his skin, Goro was sinewy as steel, cut from scar tissue and stone. He was guarded, until he wasn’t; until his glacial walls turned suddenly to snowmelt bright as crystal, dousing the both of them in a shock of giddy brilliance, half-<em>blinding</em> Akira with the radiance of his smile. And when at last he fell asleep, Goro slept nestled against Akira’s chest like a fresh kitten, and Akira was so happy and so afraid that he thought he might burst.</p><p>God… He hasn’t really thought about how intense things got — about just how hungrily they’d fallen on each other, in Maruki’s fake world. When he finally saw Goro again, returned to life as if by magic on that train platform, Akira was so desperate to hold onto him — to bind him to this world — that there was no room for hesitation, or for bashfulness.</p><p>Now, at last, in this moment of rare stillness, Akira has the space to wonder if perhaps he’s being slightly insane about all this. Is… Is it <em>weird</em> that Goro is sleeping in his bed? Should he have offered him the couch? And what exactly <em>are</em> they, anyway? Are they -- oh my god, are they <em>dating</em>?</p><p>No, Akira tells himself, surely he would know if that was the case. Surely they’re just… two mutually-attracted young rivals who trust each other with their lives, and who sneak glances at each other across the table, and sleep twined round each other like puppies, and get to weigh in on each other’s haircuts.</p><p>“Hmm,” Akira says aloud, in an effort to get out of his head.</p><p>“Mh?” Goro echoes, distractedly. “Did you say something, Kurusu-kun?”</p><p>“You need any help?”</p><p>Without turning around, Akira can picture Goro pursing his lips in thoughtful, calculating consideration.</p><p>“All right,” he says, after a moment. “Tell me if I’ve missed anything.”</p><p>Akira swings round, and immediately has to clap both hands over his mouth to hide his grin. With his hair drenched in slick, heavy dye, Goro looks like a rat that drowned in a bucket of motor oil.</p><p>In the mirror, Goro’s reflection glares at him.</p><p>“I can see you, you know,” he says icily. “You can’t hide from me, Kurusu-kun, not even with hands as deft as yours.”</p><p>Halfway through those last few words, he seems to hear what he’s saying and turns suddenly, violently red. Akira drops his hands and grins even bigger.</p><p>“You want these <em>deft hands</em> to give you some help?”</p><p>“Well, I can’t very thoroughly examine the back of my own, can I?” Akechi snaps. “Here, the gloves are--”</p><p>He freezes mid-word in response to the gentle pressure on the back of his head. Akira’s already scooped up a small puddle of dye and is working it into a lank strand of half-dyed hair.</p><p>“Y-- You’ll dye your skin,” Goro says, only slightly breathlessly.</p><p>“Sure,” Akira agrees.</p><p>He reaches for more.</p><p>“Akira,” a voice meows from outside the bathroom door. Akira ignores it.</p><p>“<em>Akira</em>,” Morgana yowls again, more forcefully this time. Akechi raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“<em>Fine</em>,” Akira sighs, leaning over Goro’s shoulder to wash the dye off his hands. The tips of his fingers come away stained and muddy, and Akira gracefully ignores the pointed look that Akechi levels at them. “I’m going, I’m going.”</p><p>Morgana is sitting with his two front paws tucked between his hind legs, dainty as a spring morning. The glare he shoots Akira is significantly less dainty.</p><p>“Leader,” he tells him gruffly. “Let’s walk and talk.”</p><p>“Do we have to?” Akira asks sullenly.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>. You can’t avoid me forever, Akira, we sleep in the same bed.”</p><p>“Fine,” Akira sighs again. And then, over his shoulder: “You’ll be okay?”</p><p>“Of course,” Akechi says icily. “I assure you that I can survive without a caretaker for a few minutes.”</p><p>“If you need me, just holler,” Akira tells him, unconvinced.</p><p>“Mmh.”</p><p>##</p><p>“Akira,” Morgana begins, in a tone that makes clear that he’s been practicing this speech. “You know I care about you--”</p><p>“Then let me stop you right there,” Akira tells him hurriedly. Morgana’s ears flatten against his head.</p><p>“<em>No</em>! I’ve listened to you two <em>flirt</em> for the past 24 hours, and now it’s <em>your</em> turn to listen to <em>me</em>!”</p><p>Akira closes his mouth. He’s reluctant to recognize it, but Morgana has a point. He lives here too, after all. Akira supposes he has a right to a voice in this. Still, he can’t help but protest.</p><p>“I’m just worried you’re going to--”</p><p>“Just <em>listen</em>!” the cat hisses, his tail puffed up like a bottlebrush. “Okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Akira mutters. Morgana’s fur settles a little. He licks a paw and runs it over his right ear.</p><p>“Okay!” he mews. “Now we’re talking. Akira: you know I care about you, but I’m worried that you’re not thinking this through. <em>Don’t interrupt</em>,” he adds, before Akira can cut in. “I understand that Akechi’s -- a complicated guy, and now that he’s not being actively manipulated, maybe he’s turning over a new leaf. But -- Akira. I think the issues we’re facing here are a little beyond your scope.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Morgana rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Well, for one,” he says sarcastically, “how exactly do you plan on getting him a new <em>identity</em>? You can’t just print off a passport in the store, you know.”</p><p>“I <em>know</em> that--”</p><p>“And what’ll you do if he has another episode? If he turns violent toward you, or toward himself, beyond your ability to control? You don’t have a <em>discreet local</em> <em>doctor</em> around the corner anymore.”</p><p>“Sure, but--”</p><p>“I’m not telling you to kick him out!” Mona yowls, finally startling Akira into silence. “For pete’s sake! I’m not… I get that he doesn’t have anyone else, okay? All that I’m asking,” he says fervently, “is that you -- just <em>consider</em> looping your friends into this. I know you think they don’t care about him, and maybe they don’t, but you have to get that they care about <em>you</em>. Right?”</p><p>“I guess,” Akira mutters.</p><p>“You don’t have to do this alone, is all I’m saying. And -- I guess I’d feel a little more comfortable if I wasn’t the <em>only </em>one who knew what was going on out here. I mean, what am I supposed to do if he freaks out on you? Scratch him?”</p><p>“So you want Ryuji to come barging in here and--”</p><p>“All I want,” Morgana tells him emphatically, “is a little accountability. A few more minds to put toward these problems. A little support.”</p><p>“And you think they’re gonna support <em>this</em>?” Akira asks dubiously. Mona shrugs.</p><p>“Maybe not all of them. Maybe not even <em>most</em> of them. But they, like me, are invested in keeping you alive. That’s all I’m saying. Is that reasonable?”</p><p>Akira sighs, sounding entirely put-upon.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” he says grudgingly. “Obviously, yes, you’re being reasonable.” He sighs again. “I’m sorry to put this all on you, buddy,” he tells Morgana, reaching toward him and scratching his head as a sorry sort of peace offering. “I’ll -- I promise I’ll tell the others by… The end of the week. I just wanna give Goro a second to get his head around it,” he adds, wheedling. Morgana shakes his head, and then nods.</p><p>“Fine,” he mews. “But I’m getting tuna for all my meals this week, or I talk.”</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>They shake on it.</p><p>##</p><p>On the other side of the bathroom wall, Akechi’s face tightens.</p><p>He spent so much of his childhood with his ears pressed to walls, listening miserably as adults discussed what to do with him. It was the nicest thing about living alone, back in his barren little studio in Tokyo. The ceiling leaked, and the window faced a filthy stinking alley, and he never got around to properly furnishing the place, but at least he never had to wonder whether the muffled voices that filtered in from neighboring apartments were talking about <em>him</em>.</p><p>So Kurusu is going to tell the others, is he? Akechi has some choice words to say about that. At least it sounds like he’ll have the opportunity. To his credit, Akira did insist on consulting Akechi before making any moves. So Akechi doesn’t have to worry about any vulgar, vengeful teenagers storming the place <em>tonight</em>, at least. And tomorrow? Akechi could be halfway across the country by then.</p><p>It’s time to rinse out the dye. Akechi turns the shower on; cranks the heat all the way up, hot enough that the drops leave raw, pink little circlets on the backs of his hands. He steps out of his borrowed clothes, leaves them puddled on the floor like moulted skin.</p><p>Akechi steps into the steam -- hisses at the heat, but doesn’t flinch. He looks down at his feet, and watches the water turn black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. How to start again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Akechi reckons with his past &amp; grapples with his present. The Phantom Thieves pay Akira a surprise visit.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akechi looks into the mirror, and a stranger looks back at him.</p><p>Akira begged him to keep his bangs, and since Akira was the one wielding twin blades in close proximity to his throat, Akechi conceded. He sweeps them to the side with one hand and scowls at his reflection. He <em>liked</em> the stupid forelock that fell between his eyes; it’s why he spent ten minutes coaxing it into place every damned morning. It was something of a signature look for him. Of course he knows that it was far too recognizable to keep. He’s not a <em>fool</em>. He just wishes there had been another way.</p><p>Akira cropped the rest of Akechi’s thin, wispy hair just above his ears. It looks nice, probably, or as nice as can be expected. Kurusu did a remarkably adequate job. The boy is a veritable <em>wellspring</em> of unexpected talents: he can catch a fish, and brew a fine espresso, and nail the bullseye with a dart at <em>least</em> five times out of six; and apparently, he can also give a passable haircut.</p><p>Akechi hates it.</p><p>Akechi kept his hair long for a <em>reason</em>. Growing up, his guardians took all their wards to the same low-class barbershop, where they all got the same ridiculous, military-grade crew cut. Once he achieved legal emancipation from the state, Akechi let his hair grow and grow and grow. He liked that he could pull it back into a ponytail when he wanted to sharpen the line of his cheekbones; liked the way his bangs curled around his chin, making his face look more angular. Without them, his chin looks rounder; his jaw dull and soft. Without them, he looks like someone else entirely. He looks like an ordinary schoolboy: one who plays sports but doesn't excel at them; who spends his nights studying with friends or working part-time at the convenience store. He looks utterly unremarkable.</p><p>Could it really be this easy to start over? A new face, a new name; a new home, complete with a supportive new — <em>ally</em>, or whatever Akira is supposed to be to him?</p><p>No, he answers easily. It couldn’t be. Akechi’s environment may have changed, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s started fresh before. Akechi has been kicked into new circumstances more times than he can count, and through it all, the fundamentals stayed the same: the only person he could rely on was himself.</p><p>Still. Akechi can’t deny that his circumstances aren’t the <em>only</em> things changing. Even before he and Akira reclaimed their reality, already Akechi was — evolving. Maruki’s reality wasn’t real, but it did give him the chance to learn something groundbreaking, an earth-shattering paradigm shift to Akechi’s entire self-conception. Loki and Robin weren’t his true self and his false mask; they were <em>both</em> him. Loki had <em>joined</em> Robin, not replaced him. Which meant that Akechi wasn’t necessarily the villain of his own story, after all.</p><p>Or — he didn’t <em>have</em> to be. In some ways, it’s worse. It means that his crimes weren’t inevitable, they were self-determined. His acts of violence weren’t his fate, they were his choice. How can you come back from that? How can you murder the boy you l— <em>like</em> most in the world, and still get the happy ending with the yard and the picket fence?</p><p>“What do you think?” Akira asks nervously, spinning his scissors around one finger. Akechi sighs, and Akira sags in place. “I did my—”</p><p>“You did fine,” Akechi tells him tersely.</p><p>“I think you look nice,” Akira tells him hopefully. “The dark hair suits you, actually — makes your eyes look lighter.” He leans in, tilts his face toward Akechi’s. Akechi turns away, and pretends not to see the disappointment in the slope of Kurusu’s shoulders.</p><p><em>What did you expect?</em> Akechi wants to ask. <em>Did you think that when you gave me a haircut, I’d suddenly be made new — that I’d fall easily into your arms? Dark-haired or light, I’m the same killer I was this morning. Nothing has changed except for my mask</em>.</p><p>“Thank you for your help, Kurusu-kun,” he says tiredly. “I appreciate it.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Kurusu tells him. Akechi glares.</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>“Lie for me. If you hate it, you can yell at me. I thought you knew that by now.”</p><p>“It’s <em>fine</em>,” Akechi snarls, and then holds his breath and counts to eight. “The haircut,” he clarifies tersely. “Is fine. I’m — It’s not about the haircut.”</p><p>Kurusu just tilts his head, keeps listening. Akechi rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Surely you know that we’re fooling ourselves,” he says reluctantly, at last. “That this is no less performative a fantasy than the one we played out in Maruki’s reality. <em>Playing house</em>,” he spits. “Making silly little preparations to put off the inevitable.”</p><p>“And what’s inevitable?”</p><p>“Do you really have to ask?” Akechi snarls. He takes a breath, and counts to twelve. “All this,” he says, gesturing at the comfortable, domestic tableau around them. “It’s not — it isn’t <em>for</em> people like me.”</p><p>“What, teenagers?”</p><p>Akechi glares at him.</p><p>“No, Kurusu,” he says clearly, enunciating every syllable. “<em>Murderers</em>.”</p><p>Akira’s face twists with hurt, but Akechi isn’t done. He’s opened the valve; taken that which they'd been tiptoeing around and held it up to the light, and there's no putting it back now.</p><p>“Did you <em>really</em> expect me to — to simply <em>accept</em> all these things I haven’t earned, and don’t deserve?” he asks furiously. “You think I should be <em>rewarded</em> for all the people I’ve hurt? After all I’ve done, you think I should be <em>happy</em>?”</p><p>“What do <em>you</em> think you deserve?” Akira asks dully. He already knows the answer.</p><p>“To be punished!!!” Stated as though it were obvious. As though it would be justice. Akira takes the assertion like a blow to the gut; feels his chest tighten and his stomach turn.</p><p>Then his face hardens.</p><p>“Okay,” he says softly, with resolve. “Um… Okay. Okay well, first off, full disclosure, I’m not a therapist.”</p><p>“<em>I know that</em>,” Akechi hisses. “I wasn’t asking you to—”</p><p>“Just let me get this out, okay?” he pleads, not expecting Akechi to comply. Goro’s face is tight and defensive, but he closes his mouth. Akira’s eyebrow twitches; he runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Um… I’m not a therapist, and obviously I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, and I’m pretty sure that working people through their shit is supposed to be mostly listening to them, so this is, like — if anything, this is like, the <em>opposite</em> of therapy—”</p><p>“Spit it out,” Akechi says imperiously. Akira nods.</p><p>“Right. Okay. I know that you… Think that you’re responsible for everything you did, back then, but—”</p><p>Akechi’s eyes narrow.</p><p>“If you’re about to—”</p><p>“<em>Please</em>!” Akira cuts in. “Just let me get this out, and then you can tell me how stupid and wrong I am about everything.”</p><p>Akechi rolls his eyes, but closes his mouth.</p><p>“I know you think that you’re a bad guy, because of all the bad stuff you did,” Akira tells him quietly. “And honestly, yeah, I mean… Yeah. You did a lot of bad stuff. I know that. I’m not stupid. I don’t just — I’m not pretending it didn’t happen just because I <em>like</em> you.”</p><p>Akechi is watching him warily.</p><p>“But I guess I don’t think that there are good people and bad people, there’s just… people who do good things and people who do bad things? And, yeah, shocker, it turns out if someone grows up in a bad enough way — if all they’ve ever seen is people doing bad things — then <em>yeah</em>, they’re probably going to pay that forward. But that doesn’t mean they’re bad, it just means — maybe they need a shift in perspective, and a change of environment, so that they can learn that it feels good to be good.”</p><p>“And once they start <em>being good</em>,” Akechi says, dripping sarcasm, “then their slate is wiped clean?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Akira says softly. “It’s not math. You can’t just subtract good deeds from bad deeds, or vice versa. People who got hurt are still hurt. You just — try to do better, and see if you can live with it.”</p><p>“And if you can’t?” Akechi asks quietly. Akira shrugs, turns his face away.</p><p>“Then you can’t. But I don’t think you’re the kind of guy who gives up just because something is <em>hard</em>.”</p><p>Akechi looks away.</p><p>“I don’t know what <em>‘kind of guy’</em> I am,” he says darkly. “And neither do you.”</p><p>“Come on,” Akira says, with a ghost of his usual mischief. “If anyone knows you, it’s me.”</p><p>“And if you're wrong?"</p><p>“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Akira says easily. Akechi rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth ticks upward.</p><p>“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a fool?”</p><p>“You know, I’ve never heard that before,” Akira lies, smiling glassily. Akechi huffs air through his nose, looks away to hide his smile.</p><p>“Come on,” Akira tells him gently, bumping his shoulder with the crown of his head. “You’re covered in hair. Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? I get enough of that from Morgana.”</p><p> </p><p>Skin still pink from the shower, Akechi examines Akira’s drawer closely before plucking out another threadbare pajama shirt and pulling it over his head.</p><p>“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Akira groans, flopping back onto his bed. There’s the faintest growl under his tone which makes the tips of Goro’s ears flush pink.</p><p>“I certainly don’t,” Akechi tells him coldly, turning his face primly away.</p><p>Of course he knows what he’s doing. He can see, can’t he? The first time he borrowed Akira’s clothes, he could literally see the boy’s pupils dilate. Akira’s eyes zeroed in on Goro’s bared collarbone and he <em>licked his lips</em>, for heaven’s sake.</p><p>Akechi is a detective, a student of human behavior. He always knows what he’s doing. Is it so wrong of him to derive pleasure from drawing a reaction out of Akira? It’s not as though he’s doing any harm.</p><p>He’s not sure when he first noticed his effect on Akira — the way Akira’s eyes always lingered on his face just a moment too long, and occasionally flitted downward to rest at the hollow of his throat. Before Akechi killed him, he tried to think of it with contempt: as a mark of how thoroughly he’d conquered Kurusu, laid waste to his defenses and laid claim to his attention.</p><p>Afterwards, he dreamed of it for weeks: not of the investigation room, but of Kurusu’s eyes on his shoulders in the bathhouse, Kurusu’s hands in his hair at that trendy cafe, the sting of Kurusu’s hand on his as he passed the baton.</p><p>Now that Akechi has what more or less amounts to <em>permission</em>, he’s going to do everything in his power to hold that gaze — to keep that black, animal attention on him, and him alone.</p><p>Akechi stretches innocently; lets the collar of his shirt slip down off of his shoulder when his arms drop to his sides, and fails to hide his smirk when Kurusu growls like a dog.</p><p>“Come along, then,” he says tolerantly, casting a sly look toward Akira. “Brew me some coffee, won’t you?”</p><p>“Whatever you want,” Akira says huskily, and leads the way.</p><p>###</p><p>Perched lightly beside the kitchen counter, Goro's only halfway through his second cup when a sound catches his ear. He flinches hard enough to splash coffee over the countertop.</p><p>“Someone’s coming,” he says sharply. Akira tilts his head and listens. Sure enough, he can hear wheels crunching the gravel outside.</p><p>“My parents aren’t supposed to be back until Friday,” he says, confused.</p><p>“Would they ever surprise you?” Goro asks quietly. His voice is utterly devoid of emotion.</p><p>“Never,” Akira tells him. “Maybe a delivery...?”</p><p>Goro’s face turns to stone. Akira can see his limbs tense, his body wound taut as a coiled spring.</p><p>“I don’t see how Shido’s guys could have found you,” Akira points out, somewhat desperately, convincing himself as much as Goro. Goro sneers.</p><p>“They could have bugged my go-bag, for all I know. They could have been following me this whole time, and now that I’ve slowed to a stop, I’ve given them the window they required to catch up. This is the longest I’ve spent in one place since I woke up,” he adds, accusatory.</p><p>“Goro,” Akira says, crushed by the thought of Goro fleeing endlessly from one hiding spot to the next, without a day's rest or a moment's peace. But Goro’s not listening — he’s already risen to the balls of his feet. He sweeps the room clinically, mapping entrances and exits, improvised weapons and topographical advantages: a professional, to the bone.</p><p>And then, from down the hall and past the front door:</p><p>“Oh my god, can you believe Akira’s <em>rich</em>?” a familiar voice asks shrilly.</p><p>“Naw, I did some recon before we got here,” argues another. “Would you believe this place sells for less than Sojiro’s house? Property’s cheap when you live out past the edge of the map!”</p><p>“I think it’s <em>quaint</em>!” gushes a sweet, breathy falsetto, audibly beaming.</p><p>“<em>Shh</em>,” hisses a final voice, scratchy and authoritative. “We’re supposed to be <em>surprising</em> him, remember?”</p><p>Weak with relief, Akira turns to Goro, only to find him looking just as guarded as before.</p><p>“Ah,” Goro says, licking his lips. His stance is no less wary; his expression no less hunted. He looks every bit as cornered as he did a moment ago, only slightly less confident. Akira snorts.</p><p>“What,” he asks, “you were <em>hoping</em> for the yakuza?”</p><p>Akechi flinches toward him, looking guilty.</p><p>“Of course not,” he snaps. “But at least I would know how to respond. I’ve already played out those projections; I know which actions to take. But <em>this</em>? I’m simply ill-prepared.”</p><p>Akira looks him up and down. Akechi is still wearing Akira’s pajamas; his bare collar and knobby knees make him look heartbreakingly vulnerable.</p><p>“I’ll head them off,” Akira says nobly, “and buy you some time. Do you want me to — should I explain...?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Goro answers, too fast to have really considered it. “I... just give me a moment to think.”</p><p>“They’re nosy,” Akira warns him. “If I try to stop them coming in, they’ll get even more curious. It’s not how I wanted this to go,” he adds, agonized. “But we’ll figure it out. Okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Goro mutters helplessly.</p><p>The doorbell rings.</p><p>“I’m on your side,” Akira says desperately, and he’s gone.</p><p> </p><p>“Leader!” Ryuji shouts jubilantly as he crashes through the threshold. “Hey, country boy!” Futaba calls wryly, and there’s a general chorus of “Akira!” from the rest.</p><p>Through the wall of Akira’s bedroom, Akechi can hear a general ruckus: the <em>thud</em> and <em>slap</em> of limbs on limbs and the skittering of feet on carpet. He can picture Ryuji’s arm flung over Akira’s shoulder in that needy, overly familiar way of his; Ryuji’s dumb ape skull nuzzling into Akira’s cheek. The mental image stirs a rush of murderous intent, followed just as quickly by a wash of shame. <em>He doesn’t do that anymore</em>. He's not supposed to be fantasizing about blowing holes through his partner's friends, he's supposed to be — learning to be better, or something.</p><p>“Show us your room!!” Ann squeals, down the hall.</p><p>Still as stone, Akechi considers his options. There’s a window in Kurusu’s room, but it’s high and narrow; Akechi could get stuck as easily as he could slip through. He could scramble to change out of Kurusu’s clothes, but that path brings with it the possibility of being <em>literally</em> caught with his pants down. He could hide, but if unearthed hours later, his position could seriously worsen his reception. Where does that leave him?</p><p>Akechi squares his jaw. He’s worked with these people before, hasn’t he? And — sure, admittedly Ryuji’s not his cup of tea, and he can feel Makoto looking down on him every time she looks his way, and Haru’s particular cocktail of sweetness and steel never fails to provoke his fight or flight response, (and also he <em>killed her father</em>, <em>murdered Futaba’s mother</em>, <em>used them, betrayed them</em>, <em>killed their leader, attacked them, brutalized them</em>—)</p><p>Ann bursts through the door to find Akechi standing at the foot of Akira’s bed, wearing a borrowed t-shirt and his own heavily wrinkled, unwashed slacks.</p><p>“Takamaki-san,” he says coolly, utterly controlled. “It’s been a while.”</p><p> </p><p>From the other end of the hallway, Akira hears Ann scream.</p><p>The team pours in after her, a tidal wave of human concern. In the chaos, Akira manages to insinuate himself through the crowd, physically placing himself between the team and Goro.</p><p>“Everyone chill out,” he says harshly. It really shouldn’t work — he’s barely audible over the din, what with Ryuji shouting and Futaba crying and Makoto yelling at everyone to be quiet — but somehow it does, and the panicked Thieves fall silent.</p><p>“I was going to tell you,” Akira says evenly, “tomorrow. I’ll explain everything, answer all your questions, so will you guys just... give him some space, please?”</p><p>He glances over his shoulder, taking Goro in. He managed to change out of those shorts, Akira notices, with detached amusement. Of all the things he could have done with his final moments, Goro opted to spend them scrambling back into his own unwashed pants. He must have made the choice without hesitating: an act of ruthlessly strategic precision.</p><p>He’s still wearing Akira’s shirt, though, a worn grey t-shirt that says “Turkey Trot 2k12” on the front. There’s a cartoon of a turkey in a full sprint, an oversized bead of sweat dripping from its obscenely swinging wattle.</p><p>With his face shadowed by his newly darkened hair, Goro’s warm brown eyes look almost red. It’s enough to make Akira sweat.</p><p>“Back off,” he says to his friends, more fiercely this time. Makoto looks murderous, but otherwise, the Thieves are too dumbstruck to resist.</p><p> </p><p>Watching the scene play out from above, Akechi is distantly surprised to see his arms trembling. He supposes that it’s the familiarity of the tableau that’s done it. Last time he faced the whole team in combat, he got shot clean through the shoulder, and fell bleeding into the cracks between worlds. He —- did he <em>die</em> down there? Where did he <em>go</em>, in the lost days between December 10th and the 24th? Is he even real at all? Is any of this?</p><p>From a great distance away, Akechi becomes aware of a faint pressure on his palm. Kurusu is holding his hand, he realizes slowly.</p><p>Over Kurusu’s shoulder, Akechi can see Futaba’s face, contorted with abject horror. His mouth tightens, and he brushes the offending appendage away.</p><p>“Do you want to wait here?” Akira asks him gently, his concern unwavering. Akechi glares.</p><p>“No. Yes. I don’t know.”</p><p>“Try again?” With only the faintest playful gleam. In spite of his best efforts, Akechi feels his mouth twist into a tolerant smirk. (It’s true what they say about the suburbs, he thinks wryly; two days out here and already he’s gone soft.)</p><p>“Yes, of course I do,” he snaps, “and <em>no</em>, I won’t. I shouldn’t wish to yield <em>absolute</em> control of the narrative,” he adds, somewhat drily. Akira gives him a radiant smile, leans instinctively closer and then seems to remember the roomful of god-slaying teenagers standing behind him.</p><p>“All right,” he sighs. “Let’s go to the living room, yeah? I’ll make you guys some coffee.”</p><p> </p><p>Akechi hides in the kitchen with Akira while the others get settled. Through the doorway, he can feel the weight of Nijiima’s eyes on him.</p><p>He watches with distant amusement as Akira prepares six mugs: black coffee for Yusuke and Futaba and Haru; a splash of foamed milk for Ann and Makoto; and for Ryuji, a cup of hot sweet milk. Before leading Akechi back into the living room, Akira leans in close.</p><p>“If I’m saying anything you’re not comfortable with, just — cough or something, okay? And help me with these cups,” he adds, nodding at two of them.</p><p>Akechi ducks his head and follows.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Akira sighs, as Akechi places Ann’s and Yusuke’s cups in front of them with a <em>clink</em>. (At least Akira hadn’t asked him to bring Futaba’s or Haru’s). “I’m gonna start with the basics, and then you guys can ask questions, okay?”</p><p>The Thieves just stare at him. Akira clears his throat.</p><p>“Okay,” he says. “Um… back in Maruki’s universe, Goro and I got pretty close.”</p><p>Akechi chokes on his breath and succumbs to a fit of frenzied coughing. Akira’s mouth twitches.</p><p>“We — worked out a lot of the stuff that’s happened between us,” he goes on, unconsciously scooping his phone from his pocket and spinning it between the fingers of one hand. “And, um… I got to understand him a little better, I guess. And then I thought he was dead for a while, until you guys dropped me at the train station, and I — bumped into him," he says smoothly, in a statement that is as technically truthful as it is <em>profoundly</em> misrepresentative. "On the platform. He’d been hiding out from Shido’s goons with no money and nowhere to sleep, and so I — I asked him to come home with me, so I could help him figure things out.”</p><p>He scuffs his foot against the carpet and flips his phone into his left hand.</p><p>“That’s it, I guess,” he concludes, looking sheepish. “Um. Any questions?”</p><p>Ann raises her hand.</p><p>“I thought Akechi was dead?” she asks, more than says. “No offense, Akechi-san.”</p><p>“None taken,” he says quietly, startling a smirk out of Akira.</p><p>“Yeah, I thought so too,” Akira agrees. “Goro,” he adds, nudging Akechi’s foot with his own. “D’you want to take this one?”</p><p>“Ah — certainly,” Akechi says crisply. “I, ah — don’t recall anything from the tenth of December through Christmas Eve. And, ah… After we defeated Maruki, I woke up outside of the Diet building.” Even after he stops talking, Ann is still blinking at him, as though waiting for more. “...That’s all,” he concludes lamely, after a beat.</p><p>“Riiight,” Ann says slowly. “Got it.” Her expression makes all too clear that she has not, in fact, got it.</p><p>Makoto raises her hand.</p><p>“And you’re comfortable being alone in the company of someone who willfully chose to <em>murder</em> you, and countless others before you?” she asks coolly. Goro flinches.</p><p>“Yes,” Akira says simply. “Any other questions?”</p><p>“So you guys are like, all buddy-buddy now?” Ryuji asks sourly. “On first-name basis and everything?”</p><p>“Yup,” Akira confirms, nodding.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Haru interjects quietly, “But I’m, ah… Not altogether comfortable in this situation. Might I ask you my question in private?”</p><p>Akira glares at her, bristling with an unprecedented display of unchecked hostility; and then his expression smooths. Akechi knows a mask sliding into place when he sees one.</p><p>“Not right now,” he says calmly. “Maybe later.” He hesitates, and then seems to arrive at a decision. “Every single person in Goro’s life who was supposed to take care of him opted to use him instead,” he says quietly. “If you’ve ever in your life known unconditional love, you literally <em>cannot</em> understand, and you do not get to judge him for — not knowing any other way to be. I forgive him,” he adds, fiercely, (as Akechi sways on his feet, and wonders idly if perhaps he is about to faint, or if he’ll do that later). “If you can’t, that’s your prerogative. I can’t tell you how to feel. But he’s going to be around.”</p><p>“I have a question,” Futaba says, in a small voice. Ann shuffles slightly closer and wraps a protective arm around her narrow shoulders. Akira’s face softens as he gives her his attention.</p><p>“It’s, um, for Akechi,” she adds. Akechi stiffens. “And I guess it’s two questions. Maybe three. As many as it takes, I guess. Okay,” she says quietly, to herself. And then louder: “Um… Mom was the first person Shido made you kill, right?”</p><p>(<em>Yellow eyes in a white face, looking around Mementos with an expression of keenest interest. “I’m studying this place, you know,” she told him brightly as he approached. “Do you come here often?”</em>)</p><p>“Yes,” he answers hoarsely. In the corner of his eye, he can see Makoto aiming a hateful glare at him, and Haru looking down and away.</p><p>“Did you know what would happen?” Futaba asks.</p><p>“I had a suspicion,” he answers slowly.</p><p>“How old were you?”</p><p>“Thirteen,” he says shortly. Futaba flinches. “It was the day after my birthday.”</p><p>“Did you know what they did to me after?”</p><p>His brow furrows slightly.</p><p>“You — went to stay with a relative, correct?” he asks, not sure what she’s referring to. “Your uncle. Clean record, no history of violence.”</p><p>Futaba nods seriously, as though his answer had clarified anything.</p><p>“Okay,” she says quietly.</p><p>“I have a question,” Yusuke announces grandly. Akira looks at him. “It’s also for Akechi-san,” he adds. “When you passed beyond our realm, did you catch a glimpse of the afterlife? And if so, would you say that the color palette looked more <em>warm</em> or <em>cool</em> in hue?”</p><p>“Okay,” Akira says, clasping his hands together, “I think that’s enough questions.”</p><p>###</p><p>The Thieves don’t stay long. They finish their drinks quietly, visibly off-balance and unsure of how to occupy the space. More than once, one of them tries to pull Akira aside for a private conversation, but Akira refuses to leave Goro’s side.</p><p>“You could have gone with them,” Akechi tells him sullenly, after the others drive away. “I don’t require <em>constant</em> companionship, you know. I’ve been alone for most of my life.”</p><p>“I know,” Akira tells him earnestly. Akechi rolls his eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry for making trouble for you,” he says to the floor, in an even quieter voice. “I — know how you value your subordinates. <em>Teammates</em>,” he corrects hastily. “I don’t wish to drive a wedge between you. If it would make your life easier, I could be gone by—”</p><p>“If they can’t meet me where I am on this, they were never my friends at all,” Akira says, with steely resolve. “But that’s not the case. I trust them. I love them. We’ll all be okay.”</p><p>Akechi shoots him a sour stare. Try as he might, he can't help but envy the easy, unstressful bond between Kurusu and his accomplices. Still, he can't claim to share Kurusu's faith. After all he's done to them, he doubts the Thieves will ever accept his place in Akira's life. And that’s just fine, he thinks fiercely. He won’t loosen his grip on Kurusu. If he has to fight for him, so be it. He’ll take on every last one of those damnable Thieves.</p><p>Akira’s phone buzzes. When he glances at it, he flashes his rarest smile: a broad, toothy grin with a gleam of Joker’s confidence.</p><p>“What,” Akechi asks irritably, and Akira points his phone screen toward him. It’s a text from Futaba.</p><p>
  <em>What does your stupid boyfriend want for his new name? </em>
</p><p>Goro blinks at it, feeling light-headed all over again.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” he says at last, his voice small. “Why would she…”</p><p>“She’s a good person,” Akira tells him fondly. “They all are. We just have to give them time.”</p>
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